stem_the_tide | Shore Leave

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Shore Leave

A shore leave, Sparrow had decided, was in order, and so when he had gone off to do... whatever it was he was doing, James had set about helping the crew to unload the necessities, and he himself had gone belowdecks to make sure that all the supplies and victuals housed therein had not been upset by the storm. One of the barrels of fresh water had sprung a leak, but it was quickly sealed, and since they were anchored, it had caused no worry. Now the work has finally finished and the men gone ashore, James leans back and passes a hand over his brow, breathing in the scent of vegetation and dark, wet earth that hangs heavy upon the air. The air is cool and James finds his ire at Sparrow melting away with every breath he takes.

His momentary feelings of restfulness, however, are soon cut short as a shrill voice cuts through the slapping of waves against the walls of the cove and the strangely loud rustling of the heavy, wet leaves of the trees which grow all about them. James sighs. Already he is getting tired of that voice.

'Hey! Navy man!'

He turns, twisting his mouth into a pained smile. The woman (he realises suddenly that he has no idea what her name is) is soaked through and looking positively vicious, her white teeth bared in a sneer James does not like at all. He suddenly wonders if she really does live in a state of perpetual fury, or if it's just something about him that so riles her. He is equal to that, however, and he raises an eyebrow at her. 'Miss?' He says, the epitome of restrained politeness

She scoffs. 'Don' take that tone with me, Norrington. Mebbe you're Commodore, yeah, but that doesn' mean you don' have to do what the rest of us do. We're to gather supplies- water, fruit.' She jerks her head in the general direction of the jungle and sets off without bothering to see if James is following her or not. He sighs, but follows after her anyway. She makes her way smoothly through the dripping foliage, slapping branches and massive leaves out of her way as she goes. No-matter how he tries, James seems always to be a good few metres behind her. After about ten minutes of walking (and it's more like jogging, James has to admit), and no sign of any gathering of supplies, he calls up to her.

'Where exactly are we going?'

She does not turn, just calls: 'To meet the Captain.'

James groans audibly, gritting his teeth when suddenly they do come to a halt and there before the pair of them stand Jack Sparrow- looking rather dementedly cheerful- and Mr. Gibbs. He runs a hand through his wet hair, droplets of water flying from his fingertips. Lovely, he thinks, how really bloody wonderful.

What he says is: 'Captain. Mr. Gibbs.'

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James stretches his neck against the touch of Sparrow's hand, returning the kiss lazily with slow, sure strokes of his tongue. He almost, almost finds it in himself to wonder about Sparrow's comment, but just as he's about to really start thinking about it, the thought slips from his grasp. Perhaps it's Sparrow's doing, perhaps it's his own- he can't really tell.

At some point during the proceedings, his foot had slipped down the trunk of the tree so that his knee is no-longer a barrier between their two bodies, and he finds Sparrow pressed hotly against him. James murmurs something contented into the kiss and felt Sparrow's chuckle in return as he pulls away, mouthing at James's lower lip.

James finds himself speaking.

'Not unaware?'

Why he chose those particular words he cannot say, and immediately he wishes he could take them back, because really, really he does not want to talk about Elizabeth, not when there are (and this thought sounds suspiciously like Sparrow) so many better things he could be doing. Could, of course, always do both.

He allows his hand to trace down Sparrow's back, stroking smoothly along the muscles of his back until he comes to the swell of a particularly fine, piratey arse. He doesn't go quite that far, however, contenting himself to rubbing small circles just above it, looking as curiously at Sparrow as the space between them permits.

'What did she do to you?'

Jack nips lightly at Norrington's lip as he begins to pull away, chuckling a bit under his breath at the close press of their bodies. Norrington's knee has slipped from the tree and Jack manages oh so innocently to straddle it between his legs, making Norrington's hip connect right with his groin. No longer being able to reach Norrington's mouth, he turns his attention to the man's neck, laying soft, sucking kissing down the line of muscle to his shoulder.

He chooses to ignore Norrington's first question, because really all he can concentrate is the beginning stirring in his groin. And how, possibly, they might do this while standing up right. Jack shivers slightly at the feeling of Norrington's hand sliding down his spine, almost but not quite reaching his arse. It's possible that a little whine might have escaped his throat, but fortunately he smothers it covertly into the fabric of Norrington's shirt.

Unfortunately, he does hear the second question. Jack chuckles again, mirthlessly, and rubs his cheek against Norrington's shoulder. Blows warm air onto the wet marks on his neck.

What has Elizabeth done to him? She saved his life for one, not that he'll ever admit to that. She burned his rum and fought undead pirates with him and made him laugh and kept him on his toes. She'd make a good pirate in that way.

"Man's got to keep some of his secrets," Jack eventually says, and then gently bites the side of Norrington's neck. "Meant more though that you can't be clever without knowing somewhat what you're doing. She's a smart ol' girl. Good pirate material."

The image of Elizabeth as a pirate, kitted out in tight-fitting breeches and a man's clothes with a sword at her side is an interesting one. And, the back of James's mind whispers, as Sparrow bites teasingly at the side of his neck, an enticing one. The heat in his groin flares as Sparrow presses up against his hip, a strange combination of the physical sensation of the body against his and the image in his mind. What he says, though, is:

'Planning to turn her pirate, Sparrow? I hardly think so.'

His voice is breathy, though, and his neck tips back apparently of its own accord, baring more skin in a silent invitation. His own hand slips down a little further and he pulls Sparrow against him further.

'First the Commodore, then the Governor's daughter,' he teases. 'Who's next? I don't imagine Governor Swann would make a terribly good pirate.'

All thought flees from Jack's brain as Norrington tugs him closer. He cants his hips against the thigh offered to him, breath speeding up and emerging in short, staccato puffs against Norrington's neck. His attention begins to wade far from what the topic of conversation is, but Jack makes a fine attempt at keeping up.

"Wig's the first thing what has to go. Too hot for open-sea suns."

His hand works furiously down the line of buttons hiding Norrington's chest from Jack's touch, but it's slow-going. Or at least not fast enough for Jack, whose impatience with clothes already exists throughout most days' activities and now has reached as impass. With a frusterated chuff that he did not think of it before, he abandons work on the annoying fastenings and yanks the shirt from Norrington's breeches. Trails fingertips under the fabric and across the line of a hipbone.

Jack shifts until he can stand more in front of Norrington, reaching around to tap a pattern against his side, enjoying the sensation of warm, slightly sweaty skin against his fingers. He places a kiss to Norrington's neck and then his jaw and chin, silently coaxing him to lower his mouth so that Jack can kiss that.

"And turned you pirate did I?" he asks lazily, picking up the line of conversation again. "Thought I tricked you into everything."

It's really almost amusing, the palpable frustration of Sparrow attempting to undo the buttons on his shirt, and he lets out a little chuckle at the expression on the pirate's face. All he can manage, however, as Sparrow suddenly gives up on his quest and simply tugs his shirt from his breeches is a long, drawn out Ohhhh.... Fingers skate with teasing rapidness over the skin just above the waistband of his trousers, and his hips jerk a little, entirely against his will, into the touch.

When Sparrow makes his way back up to James's mouth, he leans forward, cutting off Sparrow's words with his mouth, his eyes slipping shut as he tilts his head to accommodate Sparrow's mouth and tongue.

'I was speaking hypothetically,' he murmurs in between strokes of his tongue, pulling out of the kiss for a moment to bite at Sparrow's jawline, soothing the faint impressions of teeth with his lips and tongue. A smile against Sparrow's skin, and then he leans forward, his breath playing over the shell of an ear under the great mat of hair.

'I am far from having turned pirate, Sparrow. Even you are not that persuasive.'

Jack mimics the smile he can feel against his cheek, lips beginning to feel puffy from kisses. He shudders at the rush of hot air on his ear, moulding his body closer, if that can be achieved. A soft chuckle emerges from Norrington's words.

"Haven't seen all my persuasiveness, James," Jack purrs devilishly and sinks away to find Norrington's eyes. His own issue a challenge.

The name! Why, why on earth it should have such an effect on him James he has no idea, but the heat in his groin, the sudden tightening in his abdomen speak for themselves, and James has no choice but to listen. He groans, opening eyes that he hadn't quite realised were shut and standing up a little straighter, looking Sparrow in the eyes.

'Oh no?' He asks, a challenge right back, 'You think you're that good, Sparrow?' A scoff, calculatedly doubtful, and he steps forward a little, back into Sparrow's personal space. His voice, when he speaks, is unwontedly rough, a low murmur.

'It takes a lot to persuade me.'

Jack steps back inadvertenly, trying to keep his balance on the awkward land. His legs don't know how to keep him up right and still on groud what doesn't move. His fingers at Norrington's side curl slightly, reflexively grabbing for something to hold onto, and only managing to drag his fingernails lightly across the skin.

"Into what?" Jack wants to know. Wants to know what he can aim for. Where Norrington will set the target.

He rolls his hips again, bringing better contact, and he can feel Norrington hardening against him. Very good ground for persuassion. Jack runs his hand up and down Norrington's rib cage, feeling it expand with every breath and rises slightly on his toes to place a very small kiss right on the corner of his mouth, teasing but not promising.

"Hmm?" he hums queitly, liking the feel of his lips vibrating against skin. "What would you let ol' Jack talk you into?"

James bites his lip as Sparrow rolls his hips against his, heat against heat and hardness against hardness, and although he exerts an iron force of will, something suspiciously resembling a breathy moan does slip from his lips. And then another, when Sparrow starts running a hand up and down his chest.

The conversation, though, seems to be taking a rather dangerous turn. What would he let Jack Sparrow talk him into doing? Not much, he would have hoped, but apparently that is not the case. Judging from what's transpired between them thus far, he'd let Jack Sparrow talk him into quite a bit. Not that he's going to tell Sparrow that, no, so instead he brings his hand up to the back of Sparrow's neck, pulling him into a proper kiss, not the light, teasing touch he's been using before.

'Well,' he whispers after he pulls away, 'I suppose that would depend entirely upon the strength of your argument, would it not?'

It's not an answer, of course, but then that's the entire point. And in any event, they are in such a position that James is quite sure he can distract Sparrow if it comes to that.

The concept of proper balancing and kissing at the same time appears a hard thing to master. Jack lurches forwards then backwards against Norrington and the ground under his feet. His hand fists in Norrington's shirt to try to keep anchor to something before he topples both of them over. Not that toppling wouldn't be a pleasing alternative. But Jack has other ideas in mind.

"I reckon I can make a very strong argument."

He flattens his hand against Norrington's chest and shoves until his back hits the tree. Beneath his palm, he feels Norrington's heart pounding. A little thrill of excitement races through Jack as he pushes his mouth against Norrington's for another kiss. He nips lightly at Norrington's lower lip, sucking on it as his hand slides lower.

"Only want to know what can be aimed for," Jack murmurs as his lips follow the pattern of his hand, descending down Norrington's neck and the across his collar bone.

There is a thunk as the back of James' head hits the bole of the tree. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his mind, but with every teasing nip and kiss from Sparrow, it becomes more difficult. One hand at his side scrabbles at the rough bark of the tree, as if he could find some kind of support there, the other finds itself tangled in Jack Sparrow's hair as he paints James' collarbone with teasing strokes of his tongue.

'I suppose that would depend entirely on what you want to talk me into.'

He grits out, trying desperately not to let anything resembling a moan or a whimper into his voice. Though why he should try so hard he doesn't know, for surely Sparrow has already heard as much and more from him. Pride, he supposes; one must have some vestiges of pride to cling to even when one is being ravished against a tree by a pirate. He gasps nonetheless when Sparrow bites down with sharp teeth, and his fingers tighten amid dreadlocks and braids.

'After all,' he continues after a moment, 'If the one being persuaded knew- what the other was aiming for, they wouldn't need persuading, would they?' He paused, biting down hard on his lip.

'Bugger,' he breathed. 'That didn't make any sense, did it?'

Norrington rambling on about nothing at all, with logic so twisted Jack could wear it in his hair, forces a chuckle from him. Jack pauses in his ministations to cast his eyes up, lips twitching in amusement.

"Now you've got it, mate. Well on your way to being a proper pirate."

He grazes his teeth once more over Norrington's collar bone. His fingers work at tugging the shirt free of his breeches, so Jack can touch warm, slightly sweaty skin. He curves his body around Norrington's side, arcing against him to keep friction as he manuvers. Slowly, ever so slowly, he begins to slide down until his knees touch the ground.

"And as for what I'd be wanting to talk you into?" Jack pauses and finds Norrington's eyes. "Everything."

He fairly trembles as Sparrow slides to the ground, the tension in his breeches increasing tenfold at the image of the pirate on his knees before James. Nor, indeed, do the heat in his eyes and the throaty growl of his voice help things.

Everything, Sparrow said. Well, at this juncture, James feels about ready to give the man anything and everything he could possibly imagine, not that he'd ever say as much.

Instead, James shakes his head with a strained little smile. 'I am not on my way to being any sort of pirate, Sparrow, much less a proper one.'

Fingers trace across his hypersensitised skin and he nearly whines at the sheer teasing of it. He's too riled up now, and wonderful though it indubitably feels, it feels designed to torment him.

'But then,' he continues, 'I suppose that's one of the things you'll be wanting to talk me into.'

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Jack asks, not terribly curious in the answer.

He can see, and what's more feel, Norrington react to him. Feel the trembling of his muscles as he presses his cheek against the man's hip, scooping up his shirt to nuzzle the skin of his stomach. Places sloppy kisses just above his waistline. Jack curls his another hand around the back of Norrington's thigh, gently massaging his leg.

He shoves the shirt upwards to Norrington's chest, hoping that the man will get the clue and hold for him instead of letting it billow in his face. His thumb circles around Norrington's navel, followed soon by his tongue, tracing the same path. He pulls back to admire his work and breathes a cool stream over the wet mark.

"And as for pirates," he tells Norrington's stomach. "You don't seem as averse to them as once were. Or am I wrong?" He flicks his eyes up to Norrington's face, putting on a faux expression of thoughtfulness. "Should I stop?"

James accepts the shirt without question when Sparrow shoves it up his chest, clutching it to himself with the hand not touching the man before him. Anything, anything to keep him going. He can feel the muscles in his stomach twitch convulsively as Sparrow limns a path around his navel with his tongue, and his prick strains against the confines of his trousers. Finally he can stand it no longer, and a shuddering moan trips from his lips out into the humid, tropical air.

It is then that he notices that Sparrow is no longer touching him, is instead leaning back and regarding James with mild curiosity. He exhales a noise which is nothing but sheer frustration, barely restraining himself from pulling Sparrow's hair.

'If you stop, so help me, I will-'

But he can't continue. He has nothing to threaten, and he is so frantic with arousal that surely anything he did say would sound utterly idiotic. Please, he nearly says, Please just bloody get on with it, you insane pirate, but he restrains himself.

"As I suspected," Jack all but hums to himself, quite devilishly pleased with that response.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to Norrington's waist, right along the hip, where the bones curved down to make room for a pelvis. Then he sucks, hard, to leave a purpling-red blotch for a mark. His fingers pluck slowly at the fastenings to Norrington's breeches, avoiding as much contact as possible with the hardness beneath the fabric. More to annoy Norrington than out of any sense of hesitancy.

Jack's getting it in his head that it might be interesting to see how desperate Norrington becomes when pushed to the limits. He would have been curious the first time they attempted something like this, but he was a bit too eager himself to get results. Now, well -- he shifts slightly to relieve some of the uncomfortable tightness in his own breeches -- he might be able to wait a few more moments.

'Jack...'

That's a definite groan now, and well deserved, James fancies, as Sparrow is clearly doing everything he can to irritate James. If nothing else, the evil smile hovering about his lips proves as much. Not to say, of course, that he isn't thoroughly enjoying it, but he's not enjoying it nearly as much as he would if Sparrow would just bloody get on with it.

'Surely,' he mutters tensely, 'I am debased enough. Or are there more depths you would have me sink to?'

He mentally kicks himself as soon as the words escape his mouth, for doubtless Sparrow has a multiplicity of such depths, deeper and more steeped in iniquity than James even has the capacity to imagine. A tiny voice in the back of his head suggests that sinking to said depths might not be such a bad thing after all, but he silences it hastily.

The raw little groan of his names delivers a line of shivers down Jack's back, one after another. He delights in the sensation momentarily, each little trigger-shock exploding through his veins.

Those few more moments of wait-time are fast shrinking from the horizon. Jack shifts again, straining against the laces of his breeches to have something soon done. By the tone Norrington's set, he's feeling much the same anxiety about getting down to brass tacks.

"I could name a few," Jack manages to get out, voice tight and far too breathy to really issue much of a threat. Silently, he adds to himself, But I won't.

He pops the laces of Norrington's breeches and pushes the placates aside. Light feathery touches he applies first, just to include the priliminaries, before taking him fully in his palm. Firm on the upstroke, almost unprecetible on the down. He swirls his thumb around the head, then includes a quick swipe of his tongue.

"Good?"

James very nearly chokes when Sparrow flicks his tongue across the head of his prick, his eyelids flickering weakly shut. How long has it been since he's had someone's mouth on him? God, he doesn't even know, but it's been long enough that his vision tunnels inward for a moment, hazing over with pleasure, heat spiking in his abdomen.

'God,' he manages, his voice more a croak than anything else, 'Yes. Very good.'

James' fingers in Sparrow's hair tighten with the strain of keeping himself under control, and entirely without his say-so, pull towards himself, pushing Sparrow closer to his aching arousal. He can feel puffs of wet breath against the fevered skin and very nearly groans again.

'Get on with it...'

The words are muttered so that he's not even entirely sure whether Sparrow can hear them or not, but James is quite sure he'll get the message, whether he does or no.

Something deep in Jack's abdomen tightens, but not with arousal. It's darker, but just as primal: an instant instinct to recoil and pull away. He doesn't know if it's because his hair's being tugged painfully, which is not a nice thing in general, or the little note of command in Norrington's voice, or the fact it's Norrington giving the command -- but suddenly Jack flouders. His mouth dries up and he stills, dumbfounded about what to do.

Go forward or retreat.

It's not meant to be force; he can assume that much. It's not probable that Norrington's attempting to coerce him. And hasn't he built his life around that, probabilities? But it feels like force, the tiny tremors of panick running through his bloodsteam.

Still. Jack's been in uncertain positions before. Thrives in uncertain positions. This is just another time, another opportunity and he's aching hard and he wanted this about two blinks of an eye ago. Nothing's changed except Norrington's getting a little too over-eager.

To cover the pause, Jack flicks a smile upwards, closing his eyes against the bright sky. "Careful, there, love," he murmurs then takes Norrington full in his mouth.

For the briefest of moments, James imagines that he sees something strange in Sparrow's eyes; a hesitancy, a flash of something dark and strange that he does not understand... But then it's covered by a grin, a slightly chiding gleam of golden teeth, and that great wild head is dipping forward and James stuffs the fist holding his shirt into his mouth to keep from crying out. Coherence ceases to exist in his brain, and any thoughts he might have had about Sparrow's eyes are taken over by the feeling of his mouth.

It's wet and hot and Jesus Christ- Sparrow knows exactly what he's doing, James can tell that right away. He's sure there's a lot going into it; lips and tongue and wonderful slick suction, but all he can think to do is to hold himself back, to keep his hand from getting too tight in Sparrow's hair, from rutting against him, fucking his mouth like he was some kind of cheap whore.

A whimper makes its way out of his throat at that thought, leaking around the fabric and his hand as he bites down hard, and his hips twitch slightly, bucking into Sparrow's mouth.

'Sorry,' he gasps out, but with his shirt and fist in the way, it is quite unintelligible.

There's not much conscious thought that goes into it. Jack finds a rhythm and glides, back and forth, tongue flat and teeth covered. He pulls back until just the tip balances between his lips then slides down as far as he can, sucking hard.

His eyes shut, concentrating on the motion, on how to control his breath. Nothing else matters. He doesn't want to think, just feel.

The thigh muscle beneath his hand trembles just before Norrington's hips slip, jutting his prick down Jack's throat. Jack swallows convulsively so he doesn't choke, gripping hard to the fabric of Norrington's breeches. His other hand flies to Norrington's hip, to steady him, and he glances up.

All Jack can see is a shirt fisted upwards. The sun throws shadows over the crown of Norrington's head, backlighting him. Head reclined back and a long, flushed neck.

Jack loosens his grip on Norrington's hip, keeps his hand there but no longer restricting motion. Guiding him, gently, to move if he wants to.

Sparrow swallows hard around him, a strangled sort of gurgle choked around James's cock down his throat. He feels a strange, deep sort of guilt when the pirate's grip on his breeches tightens momentarily and a hand flies up to James's hip, clearly steadying himself against the unwelcome intrusion. The guilt is no more than a buzz in the back of his head, however, for as much as he is ordinarily a man ruled entirely by his brain, he is too far gone now to devote any amount of blood to rational thinking.

He still notices, however, when Sparrow's grip relaxes somewhat, fingers stroking across the protrusion of his hipbone rather than clutching uncomfortably, and James allows his head to fall back against the tree trunk, a sensation of relief flooding over him. Again he twitches into Sparrow's mouth, but this time the pirate is ready for it, and insteady of a choke or hasty gulping, he opens his throat, takes James in, sucking hard.

'Oh- fuck...'

The word slips out with a choked groan, and James looks down at Sparrow, his eyes wild and unfocussed.

'Jack,' he breathes.

Jack swallows again, taking Norrington in, eyes strained upwards to watch his face. He can see it better, sun not so blindingly bright, just the tip of Norrington's chin and his neck and his chest heaving with each breath. Jack stares at the pulse point beneath his jaw, head bobbing slowly, until suddenly Norrington looks down.

Says his name.

Jack stills, finding Norrington's eyes and just staring. He wishes he could touch his face, stroke his cheek. Hear his name said again in that way. It's rare to be addressed like that, such a gentle way. Reverent. Caring. It's... nice.

His hand on Norrington's thigh relaxes. Smoothes up over his arse, cupping and bringing the man closer. Jack strokes over his hip and down to his knee before retreating over the same trail. Soothingly. He directs Norrington to shift back and forth, bobbing his head in time.

When Sparrow's hand slips around to cup James's arse, to bring him forward, everything suddenly becomes so much better James would almost think it madness. It's... softer somehow, less strained, with Sparrow's hand caressing the muscle of his thigh. James feels he could almost call the man lover.

But such thoughts do not remain for long, for with this change in proceedings, James realises that he is much closer to completion than he'd appreciated. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he groans deep and throaty.

'Jack,' he tries, panting, tripping over the name, slurring it as if he were drunk.

'I'm- ah, Jack, I'm- I'm close...'

Even with this new softness, it seems to James that it would be beyond vulgar to come in Sparrow's mouth, to defile him as if he were some kind of common whore.

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